


Corruption souls

by Smolskeleshard



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: How Do I Tag, I do not own the work, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29964297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smolskeleshard/pseuds/Smolskeleshard
Summary: DeathBySkeleton writing a story for me about these ships and I decided to share with you all I don't know who's the person name is on this website but I will say I don't onus work I'm just giving credit to them
Relationships: Ben drowned/Sans(Undertale), Sans (Undertale)/Slender Man, Tobias Erin "Toby" Rogers | Ticci Toby/Sans (Undertale), sans (Undertale)/ Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

The human had never liked him, but he still didn't understand why he had been left behind.  
Frisk had always seemed a little... cold towards Sans. Unappreciative of his humor (which, he supposed, was understandable. He had stopped trying after his best jokes had gone seemingly flat), dismissive at the best of times, easily angered and somewhat violent at the worst. They hadn't liked him, and he hadn't liked them in return. The horrible nightmares brought by their presence were enough to shake him out of weeks worth of sleep, the apparent difficulty they had when remaining passive, the strange deja-vu he was never able to find the source of.... but... Papyrus liked them. He even considered them his best friend. The innumerable sleepovers, the board game and movie nights, the playdates. Sans believed his brother's claim and because Papyrus made him weak in ways that were far more dangerous than he ever could have imagined. He hadn't been able to escape until the damage was already done. Even now, he was still stuck bowing to the human's will and hoping to the stars that their next visit would be the one that finally killed him.  
He should have put a stop to it at the beginning. He should have been more careful with keeping an eye on them. He should have stopped the rumors at the source. He should never have taken that promise. That wasn't his fault, though, was it? Sans hadn't known what was happening then. He hadn't known that someone with only one LoVe could be filled with so much hatred. Things had been difficult as well. Each time they spoke to him, he never quite knew how to respond or even act. It was like he was being pulled from a script he didn't know he followed. Away from the deja-vu into something far deeper. Far more dangerous. The rumors, as well, had caught him off guard in a way he didn't think possible. He had never been confrontational so, really, by the time the skeleton tried to do something about it, it was too late. He missed the underground the way it was. With other monsters besides himself. He missed the friendly conversation, the neighbors, his brother, and even the projectiles and wayward tripping hazards which came a bit later on. The cave system was quiet now, made dark now that the Core had been deactivated, and filled with a sort of bone-chilling cold that he felt had to have something to do with his soul's loneliness just as much as it did the actual temperature. Sans stared across the room, having tucked himself into the far corner, at the small sliver of golden light which filtered through the gap in the metal door that had been installed in place of the barrier. At the beginning, where he was still waiting for his brother-for anyone- to come back, when he'd still believed that golden light held something more, he'd waited by that door at the end of the chain attached to his ankle, pressing himself up against it and feeling the warmth emanating from the other side. He had gotten his wish of someone's return after a while. It was a shame it had to be Frisk. It was incredible how much they had been (and still were) able to work around his one HP. By the time they had managed to simmer down enough to leave him, he'd ended up in the corner he sat in now, his right arm bent at an awkward angle along with three of the fingers on that hand when finally, finally they'd been forced to toss a cinnabunny onto the floor in front of him and leave him alone before he dusted. After that, Sans hadn't wanted to sit by the light anymore.  
That cinnabunny was long gone now, that small piece of bread having been carefully rationed over a few months. Skeletons didn't need food for much. The magic holding them together took hardly anything and unless healing was needed, one monster could survive for almost half a year on practically nothing. Even still, with his need for healing from the human's visits combined with the lack of food, he was beginning to push the limits both physically and mentally. He stared down at the cuff biting into the bone of his ankle, it was brittle with starvation now, and the pearly white had gone somewhat gray. He was going to dust if he didn't get out, but he had never been the strongest monster. Even if he had been, the chain was extremely strong (Though, of course, it had begun to rust by now. Strong did not mean long-lasting). He tugged at it experimentally, not really accomplishing much other than a clamorous rattling that echoed off the walls of the former barrier room, bouncing back in an almost taunting whisper of what they once were. No, the chain couldn't be broken, and he couldn't exactly wait for it to rust through (He didn't want to. He wasn't even sure he wanted to last as he was now.) In spite of his knowledge that the metal wouldn't snap, Sans tested the chain a bit longer, trying to find some sort of weak point until he had worked his way from where it was attached to the wall to the cuff around his ankle. The chain wouldn't break. But... maybe... He braced one hand on his foot and the other on his leg, trying his hardest to work up the nerve, shaking so hard that his bones rattled. He couldn't do it. Maybe if he were more desperate. Maybe if his base HoPe hadn't already been as low as it could possibly get (it couldn't possibly get lower than 0.2 right? Right... Stars, and he'd thought 1.0 had been low) he may have actually been able to- Footsteps approached the door and his SOUL surged in terror. Almost without thinking, his grip tightened and he twisted, breaking the combination of magic and cartilage which held his foot to the rest of him and forcing it back together with a weak flicker of healing magic before the adrenaline ran out. He was going to regret his decision later, less magic meant less time to find food, but at least he could move enough to stagger out the door and into the castle before the final lock clicked open.  
Asgore's former palace seemed bigger than he recalled, the twisting corridors seeming to stretch and surge along with nausea that threatened to force him to the ground where he'd doubted he'd get up again. He eventually found the judgment hall after a few lucky guesses and dragged himself to the side opposite the now nonfunctional elevator and down a flight of stairs that had been installed before the Core was built. After that, it was essentially a straight shot to the king's house. Stars he hoped no one was following him. He could barely stand much less run for more than half a second before eating tile. He finally stepped down from the final stair (hopped was more like it. He couldn't risk putting weight on a foot that was barely attached) and looked back up the eerily dark staircase, taking a moment to catch his breath. Maybe he should have actually used that treadmill in his room rather than- no. No, he couldn't rethink his opinions on physical fitness now. He had to get to the king's house. He knew for a fact that the goat tended to have food stashes around. Most older monsters did. He hadn't understood it until now. Starvation wasn't exactly the most riveting activity.  
The king's house, even without light, was about the same it had always been, colorless and dull, but with a strange undertone of safety to it that Sans had only experienced the sparse few times he'd been invited inside for tea. He wasn't here for tea now though as much as he wished he was (Maybe he could get some water. All that had been keeping his magic stable enough to keep him from quite literally falling apart had been a leak in the ceiling.) With his goals in mind, the skeleton searched a while. He wasn't sure how long exactly, it could have taken any time from two minutes to two hours, but he did manage to find what he was looking for, a success he celebrated by piling his spoils by the couch, setting down the glass of water, and promptly flopping face-first into the cushions. He doubted Asgore would mind, that monster had always had a very strange lack of boundaries, and he doubted the king would ever find out anyway.  
Over the next few months, Sans... Well... He didn't thrive, not in the slightest, but he survived well enough for his continued existence to be passable as a semi-acceptable life. Food was fine if a bit annoying to ration (he used to eat when he was stressed. Thank the stars he had broken the habit by now, though, or his sparse supply would have been depleted in a matter of days, but... Frisk had found out about the staircase. They hadn't seen him yet, of course, he doubted he would survive the experience, but they appeared to be searching for something. Likely either him or his dust. Of course, since he'd watched them comb practically the entire underground, he was beginning to suspect that they had ruled out the dust possibility. He walked through the once beautiful town of Snowdin, his path illuminated solely by a lantern filled with bioluminescent fungus he'd stolen from Waterfall. The snow, once a thick, clean sheet of white which evenly coated the ground, had become nothing but a thick, half-frozen mud now that the Core was no longer regulating the temperature. He would have gotten the thing up and running (stars knew having it active would make his life easier tenfold) but having it on would only serve to draw people in to search for him. They had abandoned him here, locked him underground somewhere that they knew he would starve to death. He couldn't face them again. Especially if they still treated the human as the deity they weren't. Sans paused for a moment, standing in front of his house in a moment of consideration (not his house anymore. He couldn't stay without his being found guaranteed. It was too empty without his brother anyhow) before backtracking a bit and heading down the path to the ice factory. The water was less polluted here due to the series of underwater 'spouts' between the groundwater beneath the Underground and the river itself acting as a filter between the two sources and supplying water that wasn't too tainted with soil which meant that it was the best source he had. Everything running had been shut off by the human about a week ago. He didn't dare turn it back on. He had been drinking it mostly out of habit anyway, the Underground's tap and its river water were, quite literally, the same due to hundreds of years worth of antibodies having developed within monsters to handle the bacteria within it.  
He sat by the water and took out a cup. Water, being the only resource he had that wouldn't deplete instantaneously if he consumed more than the bare minimum, had quickly become a substitute for food when it came to high levels of stress. The liquid, while the caloric intake from it was small enough to count as nothing, was still filling in a way and, at least, made sure to keep his magic stable enough for shortcuts. Sans lifted the cup to his teeth and, almost immediately, noted a strange, sweet sort of taste that he hadn't noticed before. It was off-putting but more pleasant than the usual iron-heavy tang and, therefore, not the cause of any sort of alarm until the Antifreeze kicked in and started to burn.


	2. Chapter 2

Just before Toby went running ahead for what must have been the fifth time that trip, Jeff grabbed his shoulder, holding a hand out in a silent offer. "Hand me Ben," he requested, nodding to the N-64 held tightly in the other's arms. At the immediate resistance, he added simply "You'll drop him you f-.... hand him over, please." He tried to be careful not to curse too much when it came to Toby. The other scarcely reacted well, either flying into a rage or becoming disturbingly submissive and somewhat fearful (That poor-excuse shithead of a father had better thank god that he wasn't alive to suffer Jeff's wrath. He wasn't as merciful when it came to killing things quickly.) Finally, the console was passed carefully into the offered hand, and the former carrier of the N-64, as well as the precious game cartridge housed within, darted off immediately after, flipping Jeff the bird as he ran backwards into a tree, turned around in utter confusion, flipped off the tree as well, and continued on his half-sprint down the scarcely used hiking trail up the mountain.   
Jeff took the cartridge out of the console, tucking the latter under his arm and the first, far more important thing into his pocket. In that moment of pause, a shadow fell over him, the tall figure just behind having finally caught up to his far more quickly moving counterparts. Jeff turned, staring down the tall, faceless specter behind him, Slenderman was very clearly uncomfortable with the situation, hunched slightly and moving even more slowly than usual. The creature (Creature, of course, a far more affectionate term than 'monster' at this rate. The ones that had come from the now-abandoned cave system were strange in the most annoying ways possible) raised his long arms and began to sign   
Jeff could see why, the blanket of fog that had served as a sort of cover at the lower elevations was far below them now, keeping the forest at an almost disturbing clarity. He didn't like it either, but it was better than where they had been before, both the monsters and the humans in the local area having found the house they had lived in before and, as most did once they learned the local terrors had a home, they became somewhat aggressive. Not that he couldn't 'take care' of the problem, but with the sheer size of a population, even his group could struggle a bit. "Yeah. Might be better in the cave at least." He turned back around and continued forward until a sudden break in the trees alerted him to the end in the trail, a large, mostly cleared out platform (the vegetation, according to a few older reports, had been killed off by the spell that had once) sat silent, a metal door attached (somewhat attached at least, Toby had decided to knock it in to get inside and stay ahead) in the place of what had kept the newly integrated locals locked inside. This, immediately, seemed off to Jeff. Why would someone install a door that led to nothing?  
He stepped through the doorway, the soles of his shoes clicking on what may have been tile as he entered the cave. Slenderman followed behind, having to practically fold himself to get through the passage which was so inconsiderately average-sized. Jeff disregarded this, the faceless man was always better off when his constant struggle with his height was ignored anyway and began heading forward into the darkness until his foot bumped something that caused the unmistakable rattle of chains.   
Now he knew something was wrong. Some dark secret locked away to keep the public safe perhaps? A formal sacrifice to some sort of deity? Jeff half absently handed the N-64 to Slenderman, squinting straight ahead into the shadowed corner and removing a knife from his belt when the weight of the consol was taken away. Sign language would be useless here, at least until they had some candles on hand. Had Toby not run ahead, he would have had a much more descriptive translation, but the hand on his shoulder made things clear enough for him to understand. He needed to find the sole missing group member and report back as soon as possible.  
The 'Underground,' as it was called, turned out to be a fairly awful place. Quick temperature transitions from the start which was, quite literally, located right above an ocean of lava directly to unpleasantly cold and damp which, as he carried on, seemed like it would be the ongoing trend. He stopped for a bit in a room that seemed a bit brighter than the rest, pulling what appeared to be some sort of blue lantern off of a pole. He could see the trail clearly now, or, at least, as clearly as someone without eyelids could. From the gouges in the wall that must have been made by a hatchet to mark a sort of return path, it was pretty easy to see where exactly Toby had run off to. the temperature only dropped further as he continued on to the point that he began to wish he had a second hoodie on. He needed to actively avoid patches of ankle-deep mud now, some of which actually crunched with half-formed ice as he stepped in them. The houses grew further apart at this transition, then clustered at a point in the frozen mire where the ground was just a bit more stable. He went to turn back, the path of mild destruction having ended a short time ago, when he realized that, beneath the insufferable dripping of water from the cave ceiling, there were sounds coming from somewhere close by. His grip on the hilt of his blade tightened further, pale skin going paler and the rubber handle giving a creaky squeak from the strain. Jeff followed the sound, shoulders raised like hackles as he drew nearer, nearer...  
Toby was standing by the river, not moving, which was the first problem. Toby was always moving. Even when he was asleep, there was some kind of twitching, shifting, or jittering going on. Now, though, he was completely still. The sounds, like the quiet choked whimpers of an animal being strangled to death were -thank god- not coming from him, however. No. These came from the figure on the ground. A small thing- a monster, he presumed, that was currently curled into a slightly convulsing ball and- god, was that blood? Why hadn't Toby finished killing it yet?- the hatchet was right there in his hand. The monster on the riverbank stopped convulsing, the tight ball going lax and the strangled sounds warping into pathetic sobs. Jeff stepped closer, preparing to just finish off what Toby couldn't when he finally saw the monster's face. Pale gray marred with blood and angry red marks, as well as an unnatural blue which smeared together in some places to make a vague purple spattered across the face like the monster had been burnt by wa- No. No he recognized them now. That wasn't just water...  
... those were chemical burns.  
Jeff's grip on his knife loosened, his gaze flicking around to find the source and landing quickly on a discarded cup as well as a small puddle surrounding it which was half ice by now. Antifreeze perhaps? Had someone poisoned the water supply? It was better that it was the soon-dead lump on the ground found out rather than one of his own, but... Fuck, all this was missing was the fire, wasn't it? Fire and a more thorough coat, and the monster's face would end up just as horrifically beautiful as his own. Jeff returned his knife to his belt, staring down at the miserable thing with a moment of consideration before reaching down to pick it up. The monster flinched when he touched it, weakly trying to tighten the ball again until it was safely lifted and tucked up against Jeff's shoulder where, after a few seconds, it went completely slack. He finally turned his endless stare to Toby who's ticking had started up again. It was a good move then. Not necessarily the right move, but a good one. "This place is shit," he said, an accurate summary of the frigid swamp he'd just been forced to traverse "Let's get back to the big guy. It's not worth the time."  
Toby nodded in agreement and began to return down his path, actually stopping for about half a second to make sure Jeff was following behind. He didn't mention the monster aloud, simply acting like picking up a strange half-dead thing is a perfectly average thing to do at a perfectly average poisoned river. "Yeah. Fuckin' sucks."  
"Damn right."  
The walk back through the caves was performed in almost complete silence, an eerily welcome sort of quiet broken only by the occasional popping of Toby's joints or the sounds of the monster whenever it began convulsing again (Luckily for Jeff, it had only seized badly enough that he'd had to stop in his tracks to keep his grip a few times. After that, the spasms lessened in both commonality and intensity and the monster's constant struggling against Jeff's grip ceased when it completely lost consciousness. Finally a short time after the abrupt transition to freezing cold to boiling hot, Toby spoke. "Are we going to kill it?"  
There was a part of Jeff that wished his mercy towards the monster remained unmentioned, the show of weakness being, quite frankly, humiliating. There was no reason to spare it. In fact, it would be best just to put it out of its misery, but..... Chemical burns... this monster had seen some shit, and, by extension, probably knew some shit and at this point he wanted answers... That excuse was fairly convincing, wasn't it? He could sate his curiosity, then act as though his reason for sparing it after the fact was out of satisfaction. No one, hopefully, would mention the similarity in fate, nor the likelihood of sympathy because of that. "Not yet," he insisted.  
Toby nodded in apparent agreement, either having figured out the true connection or having a mutual desire to keep this thing alive (Possibly even teach it to defend itself. The earlier struggle had been nothing short of pathetic) for his own reasons. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds good," then, after a moment, "Do you think Slendy will let us keep him?"  
That was definitely a problem. Jeff looked down at the monster he was carrying. It was fairly small, no bigger than a ten year old child, which would likely give it some sort of advantage considering Slenderman's habits. Then, of course, there were the two- possibly three if they could get Ben plugged in and on board- out of four of the group vouching for it. "Probably will if we ask. I was thinking we could teach it to handle a knife."  
The half of Toby's face that wasn't already torn to show a permanent skeletal grin smiled. "Piss off with that, man. He's not you."  
"He?"  
"I think he is. Do you want me to hold him?"  
Jeff passed the monster over without complaint, "Yeah. Make sure to hold it- him tight. He still seizes sometimes." The seizures were... Disturbing. He'd gone through all this effort to save the monster. He didn't want it- him to die before he'd had his fun. Hospitals weren't exactly an option without causing some sort of mass hysteria and getting the monster taken away by force, but kidnapping a monster that could heal was always an option. One that, if Slenderman actually permitted this strange abduction, the spector would absolutely be willing to assist with.  
Toby, as though he was weighed down by the small thing that was almost lighter than the N-64 he'd left behind, actually stayed with Jeff this time. All for the better, really. He wanted to be close in case a particularly bad tick caused the cargo to be dropped. The group came up the staircase, retracing their steps through the palace until finally they came back to the beginning. Slenderman looked down at his companions, then at the monster and Toby quickly began to translate whatever it was he heard through a telepathic link developed between proxy and the one being represented "What is that?" Then, quickly switching from translation to response, Toby answered the question which was both was and was not his own. "I found him. He's all fucked up and stuff. Jeff and I want to fix him." He offered the monster to the tall creature before him, trading his current cargo for Ben's console and allowing the faceless man to inspect the unconscious thing from the riverbank. There was a moment of tension. Absolute silence from both sides as both Jeff and Toby waited for the verdict. Then, Slenderman tucked the monster against his chest, turned around, and crouched through the door frame, prompting Toby to practically bound after him and Jeff to let out a relieved breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He told himself it was still due to the effort. He was simply happy because none of his work had gone to waste (even if, with how light the monster was, this amount was very small). He could still kill the thing if he had to. Even if it would be a bit less pleasant than homicide normally was.


	3. Chapter 3

When Sans finally managed to drift fully out of sleep rather than lingering in that strange halfway place he had so eagerly lived in for ages now, he noticed a few things that were cause for some alarm. First, he was actually comfortable. Swathed in blankets and laid atop a small bed that was far softer than anything he had ever laid on before (it even had a frame, which was fairly new for him). The second came when he actually opened his eyes and promptly realized that he had no idea where he was. The room was dark, a heavy layer of dust and cobwebs coating it and some of the furniture covered up with sheets and painter's tarps. It was big too. Bigger, even, then the rooms in Asgore's castle with its high ceiling and sprawling floor plan. He sat up with a grunt of effort, then took a moment to try and figure out exactly where he was. The room was too tall to possibly be in something that was in the underground. Especially since it was only one bedroom. Had... Had someone gotten him out? His brow furrowed in confusion as he wracked his brain for anything between drinking the poisoned water and waking up. He didn't get much, but that was to be expected. A few flashes of words, differently covered clothing. Being held. The sound of some sort of music, voices, the request to simply 'go to sleep.' It was... confusing. He didn't recognize the owner of the voices at all- owners, really. It had to have been more than one, but... Who were these people? Why had they saved him and, more importantly, what did they want from him?  
After a bit of hesitation, Sans finally left the intoxicating comfort of the bed and went to the nearby window. The curtains were drawn tight to prevent light from filtering in and were bound with a fairly old looking clasp that was just a bit too high up for him to be able to reach. This was fine, though, as he was able to simply duck beneath the cloth and peek through the window on the other side, wiping the frosted glass before promptly freezing. It was beautiful. All golden light and far off horizons and towering trees. That still soared above the window even though, according to how far off the ground was, he was incredibly high up. Sans would have happily stayed where he was, gazing out the window at the picturesque scene he had only witnessed before in black and white photos, but the sound of approaching footsteps called his attention, his eyelights shrinking in a combination of dread and instinctual fear as he peeked out from behind the curtains, trying his hardest to remain unseen.  
The man was tall. Tall enough that he had to practically crawl to get through the doorway to avoid the risk of bumping his head. Then he stood and he seemed even taller, his joints popping as he rose from his tight crouch. The man had to have been taller than the king. Even Fluffybuns himself didn't struggle this much with average-height doors as this guy. Keeping a wary eye on the man as he approached the bed, Sans instinctively ducked into the curtains a little more when the CHECK spell was in range. Whoever he was, his LV was very, very high and the skeleton wasn't at all sure he wanted anything to do with that without the protective magic of the Judgment Hall. The tall man looked down at the bed, then, appearing somewhat confused, glanced around the room until his eyes landed on the skeleton behind the curtains, then, he stepped forward, moving naturally slow in an almost meander that, with his long legs, still took him across the room in only a few seconds. He then stared down at the skeleton for a moment, waiting for... Something, it seemed before finally dropping into a crouch that was far closer to Sans's eye-level, raising his hands, and beginning to sign   
There was a beat of silence, followed by what appeared to be some sort of realization on the part of the tall, faceless man before him that took Sans a moment to fully register. At that point, he felt compelled to answer. He hadn't meant to appear as though he hadn't understood, the use of the near-forgotten (At least, in the Underground's case) use of sign had surprised him. "hello," he responded at last. His voice sounded... muffled, almost, and, wondering if what he thought was the lingering fuzziness of sleep had been some sort of covering, reached up to touch his face. This was thought, after his fingers made contact with the bandage, causing a combination of pressure and friction that sent a harsh spike of pain through his marrow, to have been a very bad move.   
the tall man urged a few seconds too late, _  
"painkillers?"  
the man reached into his pocket, pulling out a needle filled with some sort of medication, the sight of which caused the Sans's eyelights to shrink almost immediately. _the faceless man's hands faltered for a moment as he seemed to notice something, his head cocking slightly in consideration before he put the needle away  
"i..." Sans hesitated. He didn't know this person. The man could poison him, or drug him into a coma. Then again...skeletons became completely useless on most drugs. Surely, if the tall man had given Sans the 'pain meds' before, he would have known that, and why would anyone bother saving someone from poison just to do the same thing themselves? There was no reason to poison him (then again, there hadn't been before) and, even on the off-chance that he was being used as free EXP for a homicidal maniac, he hadn't had anything to lose in a very, very long time. "yes please. thank you for uh..." what exactly was he supposed to say in this situation? 'Thanks for kidnapping me'? 'Thank you for offering me drugs that may or may not be rat poison'? 'Thanks for letting me out even though I'm about ninety-nine percent sure you're going to kill me'? "... thanks." That would have to be fine for now until he found out whether or not he should actually be thanking this person.   
The man nodded, offering a hand which Sans accepted automatically, the skeleton's hand was practically- no, it was dwarfed by him, the longest phalange barely reaching the end of his palm. Sans found himself taking in a breath. That was... terrifying, to say the least. He wasn't sure if the logic applied to.... Whatever the man was. He wasn't a monster, that was for certain. He wasn't sure if the logic applied, but in the Underground the bigger the monster, the higher the stats. Asgore, obviously, had some of the highest, but there were others which, were they not so loyal to the king or so passive in nature, would probably dust him in an instant. As the man led the skeleton through the door and into a maze of long twisting hallways and narrow staircases, the monster being led began to ponder. He could perform another CHECK. Perhaps actually read through it rather than simply checking the LV and hoping out. Then again, checks weren't exactly subtle magic. They could be felt and, in most cases, even seen. He could always try for an excuse. Paranoia wasn't the best, but at least might be understood. Curiosity was a definite no, especially since he had already run a CHECK not too long ago. The name, perhaps? That made sense, at least. It was something he needed to know anyway, after all, and even if he ended up running right back into his prison, it would be a name to give Frisk in hopes of some sort of temporary MERCY. Sans kept his gaze trained straight ahead, his eye flickering as he activated the spell. Something that drew a bit of a reaction from the man, mostly a curious look down followed by a quick dismissal that had the tense line of the skeleton's shoulders going lax. It was okay then. He didn't seem to mind. Put strangely at ease by his docility, Sans scanned the screen for the information- mainly the ATK that he was looking for.  
Slenderman ATK 2739 DEF 1982 LV 20 *Wants to help.  
Even the flavor text didn't help the mounting worry brought on by such high numbers. This guy could crush Asgore like a stale chisp. The skeleton would have swallowed nervously had he possessed enough extra magic to do so with, going through a few fairly sly maneuvers to make sure nothing he'd seen was illusory. Afterward, though, with his concern somewhat abated, he allowed the conjured screen so fizzle and tucked himself closer to the possible protection that was the tall man. It was better to have an unstable allegiance in his situation than the solitude he'd been forced into, after all, and it certainly helped that the large hand which gently engulfed his own was pleasantly warm like a hearth during a snowstorm. The icy cold that had quickly overtaken his SOUL after his departure from the blanket nest he'd been sleeping in was banished rather efficiently, leaving him tired and almost cozy, the only things really keeping him awake being the persistent sting of the chemical burns and the simple fact that he was still being led around a foreign place by an almost complete stranger.   
He didn't realize he'd been led to a kitchen until clattering and nearby voices caused him to fully summon his mostly fuzzed-out eyelights and focus on what, exactly, was going on. As he neared the open doorway, the tall man released his hand and began the process of ducking through into whatever chaos was going on beyond it. Sans took this chance to actually take in some of his surroundings. He appeared to be in some sort of dining room, a table and some fairly elegant looking chairs set up in the center, the green-papered walls lined with decorative looking shelves, most of which were covered in old, dusty looking sheets. There was a television on one side of the table, an extension cord running from it to the wall, which had some sort of game console plugged into it. Curious, Sans came closer, the sound of music going from being almost inaudible above the noise in the kitchen to fairly loud to the point that he was certain that the cause couldn't just be his proximity and that the volume must have been turned up a bit as he came closer. Then the game abruptly switched to the title screen. He recognized the franchise after a moment. Papyrus had found one of the games in the dump at some point and the promise of puzzles had been simply too good to pass up. The graphics of this particular copy, though, made it incredibly hard to associate with the two-dimensional puzzle game he remembered watching his brother go through so many times. They were incredibly advanced, beyond any sort of game he'd seen before. Curious as to how this was possible, he began inspecting the console, staring at it from all angles before he finally worked up the nerve to reach for a button on the controller. immediately, the select save screen popped up with one single filled slot which was titled 'Ben'. Sans found this rather odd. Not the name, of course, but the fact that he hadn't actually pressed the button yet. "uh... hey there. you a ghost?" He knew plenty of ghosts that possessed things, though he found this particular choice to be rather silly. Most ghosts tended to control things that were a bit more... Mobile. He must have guessed correctly, though, because the game shut down almost immediately, exposing Sans to the silence that he hadn't even realized was there, but was quickly broken by barely-suppressed snickering coming from the direction of the kitchen door.   
The skeleton snapped around almost instantly, the lights in his sockets extinguished, giving him a sort of eerie appearance as he instinctively ran a check on the closer of the two strangers in the doorway. He couldn't tell which one was the source of the snickering, they were both grinning widely enough to pass off as skeleton monsters.  
Jeff ATK 3000 DEF 40 LV 20 *Can't seem to wipe that grin off his face.  
Another maxed out LV. What in the name of stars had he gotten himself into? He quickly fizzled the check spell, the discomfort on Jeff's face clear even with the permanent grin, and was about to activate another one when the second man began coming closer, speaking with an obvious suppressed-laugh tremor that made the source of the snickering fairly obvious. "Dude, holy shit," the skeleton winced automatically at the vulgarity, backing off a little as the man took his former place in front of the console, "I've never seen him shut down that fast. That was amazing." Suddenly, the man began knocking on the top of the console which, surprisingly enough, actually caused it to turn on. As the Device fully started up, almost seeming like it had to recover from the earlier short circuit, he continued on with his strange one-sided conversation. His mannerisms, after a while, reminded the skeleton of his brother, from the way he seemed to be unable to stop moving to the fact that he was able to ignore any and all signs of negativity from everyone else in the room, soldering on with a persistent sort of optimism that was almost spiteful. "How'd you manage it? Scaring him like that, I mean. Did you threaten him? You know what? Don't tell me. It's funnier as a secret. I-" suddenly, a loud sound from the television cut him off, Sans covered the sides of his skull, looking at the television and scrambling backward, his back hitting the wall when his gaze was met with flashing images that were nothing short of gruesome. The man who'd been messing with the console seemed no better off, ending up not too far away in a similar situation.   
He wasn't sure how long that ear-piercing sound lasted, it was the kind of audio torture that seemed to last millennia and left his acoustic meatus ringing after the fact. Vaguely, he was aware of the silence and the movement that followed, but he didn't really get the chance to experience either due to the piercing pain in his skull which was caused by both the shrill tone that had frightened him initially and the contact his burns made with his knees as he curled into a protective ball to block out as much as he could. The first thing he truly noticed beyond a vague awareness that wasn't even called to the front of his mind was that he was being moved. A pair of hands that felt like they could crush his ribcage if the owner of them had the slightest hint of bad intent lifting him up and tucking him against a mass of warmth that latched on almost immediately, crushing him somewhat like he was some kind of stuffed toy meant for comfort and forcing his ball to go slack to prevent the grip from actually hurting. This, of course, meant that his skull went from being pressed against his knees to being smooshed against a chest almost instantly where he noticed the second thing since the sound stopped. the SOUL (Heart?) beneath the coat he was against was beating far too quickly and, while he wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders (Stars, he was barely firing on one) he could tell that that was a problem and, as someone who's passive, lazy nature and small size caused him to be used by the king as something to keep him from tipping over a fairly depressive edge more than once (Undyne had come all the way to Snowdin to get him over there once. He hadn't admitted how endearing that was at the time, but now he wished he had a million times over. Perhaps that would have kept her from believing the lies told by the child) he felt somewhat obligated to help. So, gradually, he moved, nudging the top of his skull against his 'charge' like an affectionate cat as he wrapped his arms around the torso he'd been deployed against as much as he could. At that point, the other set of hands came back tugging both himself and the one he was attached to against a third, much calmer individual. Sans didn't open his eyesockets. He didn't want to. The illusion that he was safe, that everything was going to be alright, that he was protected, and cared for, and loved... it was already threatening to cause a highly unfortunate breakdown. The safety felt good. Too good, really. He didn't want to leave it and he knew for a fact that he needed to. It was a danger to him. It would be taken away, turned sour, used against him in the worst way possible. The human would make sure of it.  
Even with the clouds of dread that were hanging just above him, it took some time for the skeleton to be able to withstand actually seeing beyond what a few fleeting seconds could give him. Finally, though, he did look about at what mostly seemed to be a sea of fabric, the SOULbeat behind which had calmed significantly, the gaps between one color of fabric lending to a different one belonging to someone which seemed to be working to slowly remove themselves. Sans moved his head to look at the escapee, the rattling he only just realized was coming from him sputtering to a halt as he forced himself away from the comfortable, half-asleep daze he'd been trapped in. The former member of the comfort pile- Jeff, if the check had been locked his eyes with Sans's own in what at first appeared to be some sort of wide-eyed, threatening stare but, after a bit of somewhat terrified observation, turned out to be the result of a lack of eyelids (Still an unsettling thing to realize, but nowhere near as frightening as a threat from someone that could very clearly snap him in two). "You alright?" Jeff asked.  
"uh..." Sans wasn't really sure how to respond to that. He hadn't even come close to expecting it. Then again, perhaps he should have. This had been the guy that moved him to his current position after all, something the skeleton now realized was a tactical move to take care of two people at once which was.... Sweet. Sweet sounded about right. It was sweet, caring, and big-brotherly in a way Sans himself had never been able to achieve. "i'm... i'm okay. thank you. sorry f'r freakin out. not much gets under m'skin, but when it does, i don't exactly gotta backbone t'face it, yaknow?" Stars he was out of practice. He hadn't even remembered to wink  
"Not a problem," a pause, then there was a visible moment of consideration written across Jeff's face before he finally continued, "It's probably hard to act like something doesn't chill you to the bone when people can see right through you."   
The familiar ping of horrible puns caused the skeleton to perk up significantly. Someone that tolerated his jokes was a rarity in itself, but a person that punned back? That was a treasure. "not too shabby, those were pretty humerus"  
"Are you trying to rib me on?"  
"i might be. patella the truth, i haven't heard a good skelepun in a while."  
"You'll be disappointed then, my well of puns is already bone dry."  
"it can't be. i'm callin' your fibula"  
"I might come up with some later, but it's going tibia while."  
"aw. now look, you've got me skull-king." A movement caught Sans's eye at that point, his attention shifting to the tall man beside the television (He noted that the tv wasn't turned off. The input had just been changed to some sort of jewelry showcase and muted. Interesting.)   
For a moment, he was going to ask Slenderman for a repeat, but the owner of the chest he was flopped against translated the sign language Sans hadn't seen before he got the chance. "Slendy says you guys need to stop before you give him an aneurysm."  
"sorry," the skeleton murmured, backing down before anyone had the chance to become upset with him.   
Jeff, eyed him after that, a fairly strange expression that made him look like he wanted to kick a puppy to get rid of some of the underlying anger passing through his face before giving a conflicting statement "That sounds festive. How many more of these do I need to do?"  
"Jeff-" Sans's charge protested.  
"Toby," Jeff challenged. Sans grew a bit concerned. He wasn't really sure how he was supposed to stop a fight if it happened or even if that was what was expected of him. Instead, he sent a pleading look across the room, his gaze seeming to meet his mark as Slenderman- (Slendy?) abandoned the television and came quietly across the room, the other two none the wiser. Sans was surprised at just how quiet the tall man was, really, completely unable to hear the footsteps over the now bickering pair he was caught between and only aware of the purposeful touch to the heads of each of the two men by sight and the twin jolts of surprise that ensued. Jeff seemed to be close to some sort of aggression at that point, his brow furrowed like he thought he could cause someone to burst into flame until some sign that the skeleton was incapable of seeing caused a sidelong glance his way and visible effort to tone down the obvious temper.  
Toby's reaction was far less severe, the surprise causing him to pause mid-sentence before he practically locked onto the tall man, waiting until the first exchange was done and then some before making a complaintative noise and handing over the skeleton who, considering how exceedingly nice he'd felt where he was, was no more thrilled with the removal than he would be getting an arm removed. Still, though, he forced down his own sound of displeasure and complied. He didn't like it, no, but he didn't want to make the people that could easily kill him either. He was led back to the kitchen, doing his best to follow the tall man in such a way that would hopefully make his half-crawl through the doorway as easily managed as possible. The kitchen itself seemed to be the most lived-in out of any room in the house so far, the tall windows clean and unboarded and the counters slightly cluttered with cooking utensils and dishes. It smelled good too, causing his tongue to summon without his knowledge, the pleasant fragrance of spices and warm bread and freshly cooked meet assaulting his senses. His grip tightened subconsciously as he glanced around, searching eagerly for the source of the smell even though he knew he'd never have the guts to steal it. There was a slight tug from the hand he was holding, a sort of coax to release his prisoner that he quickly obliged, his stare locking on Slenderman as he lumbered across the room, grabbing a small bottle off the top of some cabinets, an already-prepared glass of water, and a plate from the oven, the scent of which nearly had the skeleton heading over to him to investigate. Perhaps even earn himself a bite if he acted pitiful enough. In the end, though, none of that was really needed. The tall man beckoned Sans to follow as he balanced the precarious load and returned to the dining room, setting the objects down and patting the seat in front of them with an obvious offer which was all the skeleton needed to practically scramble into the chair. There was an echo of a warning in the back of his skull. The food could be poisoned. It could kill him. However, the warning meant nothing to the instincts screaming at the front of his skull, causing him to pull the plate closer to guard the contents and bypass the utensils entirely as he tore into the meal like a ravenous animal, ignoring the stinging of the lower half of his face as he allowed himself to mentally blank for a bit, civility thrown aside in the favor of satisfying something basic and savage that he'd been forcing himself to deny. At the end of it, all that remained of the food was a single bone that was picked mostly clean and still being worked on, the skeleton gnawing on it still hunched over the plate, sockets half-open and somewhat dazed looking as he came back to himself enough to wonder where on earth the food had gone so quickly. Something moved out of the corner of his eye, causing the plate to be pulled closer, a rattle far lower than the one he'd performed previously warning whoever approached like a very angry wooden wind chime which tapered off when he realized that whatever was coming had food. Semi-conscious as he was now, he was vaguely aware that, even if the nearby presence hadn't brought food, it wouldn't be able to take away much more than a few scraps of meat and some cartilage he'd still been in the process of scraping off, his summoned tongue retexturing itself to something more akin to sandpaper to ensure he was as thorough as possible. Sans went quiet then allowed the presence to approach, rewarded by bread and another piece of meat being deposited onto the plate, a pleased, hum escaping the skeleton's throat as he went back to protecting his newly refilled plate and stripping the bone in his hand of any and all things that could be considered food, even going as far as to bite it in half and lap at the warm, spongy marrow hidden inside. Distantly, he was horrified with himself. Bones were meant for attacks, dog monsters, and the production of new skeletons. They weren't supposed to be food, even if the gnawing sensation in his SOUL that slowly subsided as he essentially hollowed the thing said otherwise. His desperate pace slowed significantly with the new additions, starting as one that was only a bit faster than average and ending as an idle lapping when he got to point of cleaning the second bone. As he hollowed out what he shouldn't even have been eating, his eyesockets falling half-closed with the heaviness of being genuinely full, he felt a pressure on the back of his head, one that he leaned back into immediately, giving a blurred "thanks" of general appreciation for all offerings he had been given. Only now did he recall the presence of the pill bottle and water cup, giving the objects a single, slow blink before sluggishly going through the process of taking whatever medication he'd been offered. He didn't even care if it was poison at this point, his sockets sliding closed the moment the water was gone, comfortable, safe-feeling, and full for the first time in ages was a good enough way to go.__


	4. Chapter 4

The longer Sans lived at the old mansion Jeff had been lucky to stumble across on the way back to town, the more Toby grew to like him. The sweet little thing was incredibly tolerant, not even blinking when the ticking got bad enough that it hindered Toby's ability to do simple requested tasks, not showing a single bit of annoyance whenever he snatched the monster up without warning for daily bits of cuddling that he was allowing to grow in frequency and duration to the point that he might as well just put the skeleton in a baby sling and wear the guy, heck, Sans didn't even hesitate to answer his questions repeated and simple as they might be (Even if, some of the time, the answer wasn't really an answer at all). It had only been a month, just one month, and Toby was already so attached to his newfound friend that it would take hell burning down and the sun exploding to pry him away. Or a terrifying case of food possession. That strange rattle-growl and, once in a while, the slight release of whatever the monster was animalistically gnawing on for a slight parting of flat, white teeth that wouldn't have felt so threatening had Toby not seen them effortlessly snap a bone in two was enough to keep the literal serial killer well away from Sans's plate when dinner rolled around. At least, with regular meals, that possession was ebbing a bit. thank goodness for it as well, Toby didn't think he'd want to come near the skeleton at all if he conjured that half-transparent, ghostly form like he had when Slenderman went to give him more food that first day (The thing had been the stuff of nightmares. All long snout and split jaw and razor-sharp canines framed by a crown of mean-looking spikes. Jeff had thought it was awesome and, since then, has been the one to offer extra food so that he would be in a position to see the giant dragon thing again. Toby, who had kept his prey limited to humans since then just in case, begged to differ.)  
"Hey Sansy?"  
The skull tucked against his chest swiveled to face him, sleepy sockets opening and lights forming as the skeleton gave an inquisitive hum. There was a quiet rattle that backed the sound like a drumroll performed on a woodblock. Toby felt a slight pang of guilt at that. The monster must have been woken up by his question. "'sup tobes?"  
"How old are you?" it was a question that had been on Toby's mind for a while now. Quite frankly, the combination of the skeleton's short stature, frequent naps, and wild swings between drastically different levels of maturity made it extremely hard to tell. Especially after yesterday's maneuver in particular, during which he had somehow transitioned smoothly from yammering on and on to Slenderman about the scientific advantages of something-or-other to ambushing Jeff with a door handle covered in whipped cream and the confidence of someone who smooched the Grim Reaper's mother (Toby still wasn't sure how the small monster had moved that quickly. One second Jeff was reaching for a clean doorknob, the next his hand was covered in ice cream topping.)  
Sans tilted his head in consideration for a moment "depends" he decided.  
"Depends?"  
"yeah. monsters don' usually age like humans do. it kinda varies but uh... yeah. so... if ya wanna go by human years tha' number's prolly gonna be a little off sounding.... lessee... i think'm... definitely late two hundreds. Two eighty something, prolly."  
"You're two hundred and eighty years old??" That was absolutely not the answer Toby had been expecting.  
"in human years, yeah. f'r my typa monster tha's...what, twenty three? twenty four?" Twenty four was a far more reasonable number.  
"Yeah, okay. I can see that."  
"y'can? tha's pretty funny, most people think m' twelve or somethin'."  
"Is it 'cause you're-"  
"s'tha sans o' humor that gets em. dunno how they think i can be so young with a funnybone this refined."  
The corners of Toby's mouth twitched into a smile. "I would think it's 'cause you're short."  
"hey-"  
"Short as hell."  
"i don't have to nap here."  
"Yes you do. I caught you. Fair and square."  
"finders keepers don' apply when you're fu... freaking rude."  
"Sansy, did you almost swear? I'm shocked. What would Jeff say?"  
"nothin' it never happened. you saw nothin'."  
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure I saw-"  
"n-64 looks awful comfy"  
"-Absolutely nothing. You're right."  
"on second thought, i'll stay here." Just to prove the claim, Sans shamelessly nestled into Toby's shirt, a peculiar grin on his face like he'd just successfully robbed a jewelry store. The little bastard just blackmailed him.


	5. Chapter 5

For the longest time, Ben wasn't sure what to think of the skeleton. The monster was... Strange. Cartoonishly built like a game-sprite with his oddly expressive skull and short stature topped off with an oddly personal understanding of stats and HP to the point that he knew his own as well everyone else's in the run down mansion they'd been lucky to find the same night Toby and Jeff decided to kidnap the skeleton for the 'greater good.' Ben had treated him coldly at first, deeply unnerved by the simple exactitude that very first comment 'you a ghost?' It had been said so casually and with a sort of idle confidence of someone that already knew he was right. Ben had reacted... badly to that. He wasn't meant to be simply known, he wasn't meant to be caught at a glance from a mild haunt that could so easily be explained away with a faulty system. Even as time passed, it was hard to accept the possibility that, out of any entity that could possibly exist, a walking, talking pile of bones would be one of the most likely to understand the concept of the undead. To him, the skeleton had simply been... wrong. Wrong on so many levels that his genuine liking of Sans ended up creeping up on him like a big cat on the prowl, the realization only setting in about three months after he'd joined the household.   
Everyone had just been called to dinner, and, while this was fairly common, this particular occasion seemed significant. Ben had been moved from the living room where he'd been watching the suspiciously docile bone man as he was crushed half to death in Toby's grasp. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for. An attack, perhaps? That laser cannon (Which looked enough like the typical video game villain goon that Ben was certain it was evil) he'd caught a glimpse of didn't help improve his opinion of the skeleton in the slightest and, in fact, was one of the main reasons the monster made him so nervous. Ben 'sat' across the table from Sans now, stubbornly displaying only the title screen in a bit of a show of displeasure. He didn't like being made to hang about during meals. The sight of food made him horribly nostalgic, and, while Slenderman was kind enough to allow Ben to remain in the living room most days, he still found himself being plugged into the small dining room television once every couple of weeks. Ben fumed for a time, despising every bit of his situation from the proximity of the skeleton to the fact that the open window across the room and to his left caused light to glint off the screen of the television. Then, Jeff proudly brought in a large bottle of what must have been some sort of alcohol into the room. That was enough to convince him to turn down the obnoxiously loud title screen music and quickly enter the game itself. loath as he was to watch people eat, laughing at drunks was a completely different matter.  
Normally, on the rare occasion that Toby or Jeff managed to thieve alcohol, the course of the night was pretty predictable, Jeff convincing Slenderman to get drunk first then causing utter havoc with Toby once he fell asleep, but this night was different.   
It was Toby that offered the skeleton the bottle, giving a "You want some?" which was quickly met with a 'yes please' before his efforts were almost immediately intercepted. Toby jolted before he even managed to get a hold of the bottle, looking at Slenderman with a mixture of hesitant guilt and confusion. The tall man shook his head, angrily signing. 

Jeff who, normally, was ready and willing to make any and every bad decision he was offered, seemed to agree with the spector for once, though he seemed more focused on consoling the monster who, currently, was looking on with an equal confusion. "Yeah, maybe next time, pipsqueak. You don't want this stuff anyway. Shit'll... I don't know... Stunt your growth or something."  
It took Ben a moment to catch on, but, when he did, he had to momentarily mute himself to keep his amusement from being too obvious. They thought the skeleton was a child (an understandable mistake, really, had he not been prone to listening in to any and all conversations that happened in the living room, he would have thought the same). For a moment, he didn't expect either of the other more informed two to answer. Toby simply because it was doubtful that he'd catch on for at least another few minutes, and Sans because, though it was obvious he understood the misconception almost immediately, he simply didn't seem like the confrontational sort. There was a short period of silence that seemed to stretch on for ages, then, possibly to spite Ben's confidence in his deduction skills, the skeleton spoke.  
"... i'm twenty four. pretty sure m'done growin'"  
It was that line, delivered with the utmost distaste for the particular brand of misunderstanding the monster had just been subjected too, that primed Ben to practically break down laughing when Jeff completely balked and Slenderman seemed to stare through the skeleton in spite of his lack of eyes. That, right there, followed by the skeleton's apparent ability to outdrink anyone he damn well pleased, had been the point during which the cat sprung and, since then, Ben's liking of the fellow had become unquestionable.   
He was in the living room now, idly going through his own puzzles over and over while Sans watched lazily from the couch. It had been a full half-year now, and he looked far better, the pale gray of his bones slowly lightening to a shade far closer to an almost pearlescent ivory, he seemed to almost be more filled out as well, though that may have been the simple difference between his old, somewhat tattered clothing and the far newer sweater he was wearing now. At this point, Ben was suspicious, not of the monster, of course, the skeleton was far more of a simple thing now that he wasn't trying to figure out what was 'wrong' with it, but of the shine he'd taken to the couch potato across from him and of how utterly suspicious the intensity of his 'liking' was. He had a theory. A somewhat odd theory, but a theory nonetheless, and, now, after self-evaluation and a quick few checks of his own code to ensure he wasn't malfunctioning, he was prepared for an experiment. Sans's sockets had just barely drifted closed when Ben pulled up and played Navi's 'Hey, Listen!' in the hopes of attention which was received fairly quickly.  
"sup?" the monster questioned, his eyes slowly opening so that he could read the screen and his hand moving so he could prop himself up.  
Ben pulled up a text box. 'Is it true that skeletons have 307 bones?'  
"uh..." Sans looked a little confused, "your close. we've got three hundred and six, actually."  
'Oh. Then I suppose you're just happy to see me.'  
The skeleton seemed to choke on nothing, then, his face flushing an eerie, seemingly luminescent grey-blue. It appeared that Ben had hit his mark and, judging by the almost infuriating spike of warmth that shot through him at the unfortunate monster's fluster, he had his answer.


	6. Chapter 6

Jeff had liked the skeleton from the beginning. Not openly, of course not openly, but the small monster had simply struck something within him that seemed to quell that need for violence whenever he was nearby. Sans was... sweet. Yes, that was it. A sweet thing with the ability to kill (the cannon made that much obvious) but a strong enough moral backbone to simply tolerate instead. After a while, Jeff almost hoped that the skeleton would never have to kill. It quickly became obvious that such a thing would destroy the already delicate sanity both himself and his odd mismatched 'family' had been piecing together from day one. Then again, revenge was certainly a possibility.  
The skeleton was angry, and rightfully so. The feeling was something well hidden, tucked beneath layers of outward tolerance and a lingering anxiety, but Jeff could see it. He'd begun to stoke it. Building the tiny flames of hatred that were admitted as some dark secret in spite of knowing what a serial killer might do in response. Sans had been locked away in the mountain, chained up to a wall and left for dead simply because someone important, which he still refused to name, had disliked him. His friends had turned against him, misinformed and misunderstanding, and even his own brother, someone clearly valued and clearly idolized, had done nothing to stop his imprisonment. That information. That tiny scrap of what happened had Taken Jeff a full month to weasel out. He hadn't even started trying until after that (horribly embarrassing) misunderstanding that had baited him in with that expression of old loathing that he could easily imagine on Slenderman whenever the specter needed to creep through a door. Seeing such anger on a creature simply not primed to feel such a thing was... exhilarating.  
Jeff was trying to convince him that revenge was only a one-bladed sword so long as it was carried out correctly again. His points being heard, but never listened to. Speaking was an inconvenience without a proper visual metaphor, but with Sans, he had no choice but to accept the challenge. The skeleton was terrified of knives as he was angry with his former captor. Not a good fear to have when someone like Jeff was lurking about, but one that was considered as well as possible. Suddenly, the monster broke the silence that the killer had allowed to stretch for a time just after his gentle coaxing. "...i don't know." He murmured. Wait.... was that it? "'f... 'f they were 'n'fron' 'a me, maybe, but..." Sans's sockets seemed somewhat cloudy, an almost-fog of sheer exhaustion that Jeff had never felt before sitting behind that stare and causing an almost palpable weight to hang dangerously in the room like a chandelier dangling from a piece of thread. "frisk was...they were jus' a kid then. i can't hold 'em accountable f'r somethin' they didn't understand."  
"They tortured you."  
"...i know."  
"You gonna tell me that little shit didn't know you were hurting?"  
Sans's eyelights extinguished, and yet Jeff knew for a fact that his gaze had shifted to the ground. There was another silence, this one far more uncomfortable. There was a shrug which bore shaking shoulders, a welling of translucent blue-hued tears, and the killer's resolve to push further broke. The silence grew guilt now, something that he was so deeply unfamiliar with, that it scared him somewhat. It hurt, but not like a sweet physical pain like a stab, or a sting, or a burn, but something sour. Something that dug its barbs directly into his core. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to fix it. His skeleton hadn't shed a single tear in so long, yet here Jeff was breaking the streak. "Hey," he murmured, acting only with instinct and the tug of distant, faded memories as he pulled the monster into his arms and practically crushed the small, frail thing against his chest where the guilt tore so ruthlessly "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry." And he was. For the first time in a long time, he really, truly was. However, as Sans calmed and then drifted into a slumber backed by that odd percussive rattle, and after a freshly bloodied Toby came through, offering both a glare at the man whom had just stolen his cuddling partner followed quickly by an utterly impish grin of realization as it occurred to him just who this man was, Jeff's guilt died down, and was quickly replaced with a realization of his own.  
Sans had given him a name.  
A dark, humorless chuckle escaped the killer's throat, his hand coming up to trail idly along the back of the skeleton's skull. Praise for providing such important information.  
It seemed vengeance was more likely than he first thought.


	7. Chapter 7

When Jeff entered Slenderman's room unannounced, the last thing he expected was a proposition. He'd grown used to the antics of the strange little goblin of a man, coming to accept and even expect reckless, impulsive disobedience at every corner. It wasn't often that Jeff actually asked to do something, and that was the start to a number of signs that something was very, very wrong. Nothing seemed to be amiss about the requested future kidnapping, other than the disclosed target being one the skeleton had mentioned to him multiple times before. Sans had finally dropped the name, then? That was good. That was good. He'd need to talk about that later. For now, though, he asked Jeff to figure out the actual age of the savior of monsters so that he would know how long that kidnapping would need to be held off. All protests following this went ignored, of course, no matter what they'd done in the past, no child was to be hurt in his home. Something that Sans, judging by the monster's reluctance to relay any information to the more gung-ho members of the household until this point, agreed with to some degree. 

After dinner that night, something that had become far less of a fiasco now that the newest member of the group was slowly getting over his ferality when it came to the food he was given, Slenderman quickly went to head off his proxy who had immediately gone to snatch up just the monster the spectre meant to talk to. Normally, he would have simply allowed Toby the simple joy of enthusiastically cuddling the skeleton into the nearest couch cushion, goodness knew he understood, every time Sans so much as hugged him, his day immediately brightened enough to make the sun jealous. Twenty something years old or not, Sans was small and, therefore, criminally adorable much like a small lap dog with the tendency to steal condiment packets. Unfortunately enough for his proxy, however, Slenderman needed answers as soon as possible before a child's life ended up on the line. With Toby intercepted, he quickly made a proposition. 

There was a moment of apprehension on the monster's face, the look of someone that had been scammed by that exact question before. Slenderman still felt a bit bad about that. He hadn't considered the height of the cabinets or his lack of a step ladder to be a problem before. "sure" Sans agreed at last, trusting, after a bit of scrutiny, that the spectre would make the same mistake twice. "sure thing, big guy," he said casually, sauntering past the tall man with all of the lazy confidence of a recently fed cat. There had been a time that the skeleton would quicken and give an unconsciously wide berth when walking past the spectre, but now he slowed and made sure his shoulder nudged against the side of Slenderman's leg in an odd show of mild affection that, like most habits that had developed in the monster over the time he'd lived on the surface, to be rather endearing.

There weren't many dishes that night, but that was just fine. They were only a way to preemptively separate Sans from the others in order for a private conversation to remain unimposed and a bit of bought time for Slenderman to flounder for some way to start the conversation. Luckily, his strange conversational apprehension wasn't needed as the monster's ability to decode everything from a mood to a life story from body language alone managed to both metaphorically corner the tall man and ease the stress of needing to start something as serious as inquiring if Sans was currently reconsidering his stance on child murder in one fell swoop. "so... 'sup?"

Came the idiotic inquiry. He knew what was 'sup?' Damn it, why couldn't the skeleton have been a child? It was so hard to talk to him now.

"y'look nervous. s'this 'bout jeff?"

"he waited that long?"

"bout a week ago."

"no. no it just kinda.... can... can we talk 'bout this later?" There was a pause, not a very long one, when the skeleton glanced behind him. Paranoia clear in his face. He didn't like speaking of his imprisonment to begin with, but there was something about opening up about it to the others that made his usual nigh-joking tone turn a brand of solemn the spectre didn't enjoy in the slightest. A subtle movement in the corner of the spectre's field of view drew his gaze to the skeleton"s hands as Sans switched to sign language 

_The small amount of dishes that were left were finished rather quickly, the tense silence causing Slenderman to retire to his room with a sense of urgency rather than keeping suspicion at bay by pausing to talk with the other members of the household. He opened the door to see the monster he had expected to either be on his heels or taking a longer route to avoid the three-hour delay that was Toby perched precariously on the arm of an old plush chair. For a moment, the tall man did nothing but stare in confusion, trying to recall when Sans could have possibly passed him when his stride was so long that his amble could cause someone of average height to have to jog to keep up, then he pushed the confusion aside and shut the door, heading over to the chair and sitting upon it like a normal damn person in the hopes that the skeleton would take his actions as that of a good influence and stop sitting of sofa arms, chair backs, and shelves when there was enough furniture in the house that he could claim a whole couch as his own and no one would mind it. Then, of course, the skeleton, after some visible deliberation on his height, flopped to the side and hunkered down across the tall man's lap, effectively trapping the poor soul who simply didn't have the heart to remove him. There was a moment's pause then, the small monster taking a bit of time to ensure he was, truly, in the ideal position before doing the spectre the favor of starting a conversation since Slenderman, currently, was having a very difficult time with basic thought. "so. jeff, right?"_

_The tone alone was enough to give the tall man pause. Normally, Sas harbored the natural inflection that made everything sound like a particularly good joke, and he was struggling to hold back laughter until the punchline. Now, though, it was flat with a particular brand of sorrow that was all too familiar. A sorrow only delved into when comforting the skeleton meant far more than simple reassurance even of that nightmare, like any other, was over and done with now. ___

__There was a look of shame on the lap skeleton's face now, his eyelights traveling to the side to look at the opposite wall where a rather large painting depicting a somewhat shaky and very oversaturated landscape was hung to fend off the room's general monotony. From what Slenderman had observed before, Sans felt oddly guilty whenever he dared admit that he was upset about his former imprisonment. It was an odd guilt. Not a single member of the household had the desire or even the right to blame the monster for being angry with his situation. In fact, the spectre was certain that, had he bore that occasional admittance of roiling hatred to the others, it would only serve as something to make them like him more. Perhaps it was so.ething to do with his lingering sense of pride rather than the utter delusion that was a house of killers thinking less of him for thoughts of murder, but the tall man wasn't sure, and he doubted he'd ever be. "three years," came the sudden, regret-rilled response. "almost four. their birthday's 'n september. m'sorry 'bout this..."_ _

__Four years. Jeff was going to blow a damned gasket. Four years wasn't very long for a centuries-old supernatural being, but for an impatient knife-happy human, it may as well have been four decades. Slenderman assured. He wasn't sure how Sans had been planning on keeping the information from everyone anyhow. Even if he held more strange secrets than the damn Necronomicon, there wasn't much one could do when being badgered by someone who was horribly good at pushing buttons. Especially if there wasn't anywhere to run._ _

__The monster's half-distant gaze at the signing hands shifted over to where the tall man's face would be if there had been one, the glazed lights within those deep sockets sharpening then softening as a sweet little smile tugged at the corners of his logic-defying teeth. "thanks big guy," he murmured, and the spectre knew he'd made the right decision. The spectre, unable to reciprocate the smile, slowly placed his hand atop Sans's skull instead, taking a page from his proxy's habits and petting the skeleton's head. The soft rattling of a wooden wind chime began to emit from the monster, and Slenderman sat back, carefree and only considering the future as far as convincing Jeff to stand down. After all, four years was such a short time. How much could possible change?_ _

__If only he'd known.._ _


End file.
